Poem: Longing for a Blue Sky; a poem of circumstance & memory

Sangre de Cristos;
photo by Deborah Wolfe

One day in 1974 I stood at an overlook to the Hudson River. Greens, blues, earths. Quiet. Depth. I made a decision to, eventually, move so I’d live near the Hudson OR in northern New Mexico OR northern California.

Retirement, which was once a concept or option could or would be the trigger for such a move. Beauty. I wanted to be surrounded by beauty and those three geographies satisfy and are familiar.

So that’s part of the background here. Here's more. I was with a group of friends doing some free-writing when the first draft of "Longing" was a gleam in my eye. We knew the routine—be quiet and write for a set period of time. Someone new barged in, someone who demanded attention and would not humble himself enough to ask what we were doing or how he could be part.

And it isn’t hard to be part of this group. There are a few ground rules, like, please, hush, sweetheart, when we’re writing. I flustered and got flustered, but ultimately, it pulled together; worked to advantage. I mentioned the poem previously, in Lavender: new journal; new poem, but didn't include the poem herself.


Longing for a Blue Sky


I am goal-oriented like an orgasm,
exhausted already by details of your ego.
My details are colored "hesitation" and "confidence?"
though age, she educates.

My mood is London longing for a blue sky.
I take the Hudson River as my lover
the Southwest as my comforter
Mount Shasta as my tomb.
Who wouldn't want to spend millennia
in a fine female breast?

In my pain—everything I need to be pleased.
I am pleased already, could you shut up!
See me, in a woman's burial mound?
About your ego:
It destroys nothing, not even itself.

_______________
Sarah Sarai, Lavender Review, Issue #2, 2010